


Firewalker

by 30xf



Series: 201 Days Of X Files [33]
Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:25:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5082943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/30xf/pseuds/30xf





	Firewalker

Scully and I have been stuck in this room for three weeks, with one more to go. We've gone in and out of cabin fever; played every card game known to man; played only the most tame games of truth or dare; discussed just about every movie we've ever seen; and had innumerable conversations that we've managed to keep from getting too deep or personal. The rules of this quarantine have loosened up a little recently--some of the nurses have taken to sneaking fast food in for us to give us a break from hospital food, and Scully's mom has been allowed to visit, although she has to wear scrubs and a mask. Mrs. Scully flew in from DC a day ago, and can only stay for a couple of days, but Scully and I plan to put her to good use while she's here. Today, Scully had her bring various beauty products and magazines. She requested Scientific American and Details for herself, and Sports Illustrated and a copy of The Lone Gunmen (picked up right from the boys themselves) for me. 

At the moment, Scully lies on her bed, wearing the white scrubs we've both been issued, with her knees bent and her bare feet up on the wall. She hears me enter after my trip to the bathroom and starts talking without even looking at me. "My mom forgot those toe separating thingies," she gestures at her feet, where I see her toe nails are newly painted a pale pink. Her feet are pressed to the wall, preventing her toes from possibly mingling together and ruining her careful work. The bottle of nail polish in her hand was included in the care package her mother brought.

I grab a chair and sit by her bedside, angling it so I can see her face. I put my feet up on the bed just past her head and cross my legs at the ankles. "I'm sorry you're stuck in this room," I say, out of nowhere.

"Why? Your room isn't any better," she comments. Her voice is calm as usual, but I sense the undercurrent of sarcasm. My room is just beside hers in this little used area of the hospital. Little used and seldom visited, as it turns out. The nurses only come up a couple times a day, and a doctor only every morning. The cleaning staff appear regularly though, and Scully and I are thankful for the friendly conversation they offer. I'm not sure if there are any other patients up here; oddly enough, I haven't had the inclination to go searching for other intelligent life. As it turns out, a month of having almost no one but Scully to talk to works fine for me. I'm not so sure she shares the sentiment however. 

"You know what I mean," is all I say.

She is quiet for a long time. Not the kind of quiet that makes me fear for my life though. There have been a few days where I have gotten on Scully's nerves to the point where she actually locked me out of her room and refused to talk to me. That feeling generally passed within a few hours, and I could usually see where she was coming from. I get on my own nerves sometimes, and after working with Scully for a year and a half, I can attest to the fact that she has the patience of a saint. "Haven't we had this conversation before?" she asks.

I frown, "I'm not sure we've had this EXACT conversation, but--"

"I mean where you apologize for us ending up somewhere when I made the decision on my own to go? And didn't you promise that you'd never do that again?" She's casually inspecting her toes, knowing she's right and that I have no argument against her.

"Well, to be fair, I don't think I ever exactly promised that." I think I have her on a technicality.

She's shaking her bottle of nail polish, making the little ball bearing inside click against the glass bottle. "You're right--what happened was I said I'd shoot you if you did it again."

She's got me there. Trust her to remember the whole conversation even though she was recovering from dehydration after being attacked by thousands of little bugs in the forest. "Can we forget this whole conversation ever happened?"

Scully laughs a little, her mind already moving on as she flips over onto her stomach. Her knees are still bent, with her feet kicking lazily, either still trying to dry her nails, or just out of boredom. "Spread your toes," she instructs, grabbing one foot before I can even oblige. "What do you want my mom to bring us tomorrow?" she asks, dragging her little nail polish brush right up the middle of my big toe nail.

For co-workers, this is definitely a bizarre situation. But perhaps not for friends. And certainly not for best friends. I shrug, considering her question. "She's your mom--you decide."

"Hmmm...I'll have to think about it," she mutters, intent on her work.

I take the time to look her over. She's lost weight since her abduction, but she looks healthy. Her skin no longer pale, and the hollowness of her eyes gone. When she was returned, she actually looked mostly the same as when she was taken. A fact that was comforting--wherever she was, at least she appeared to have been taken care of. Her body is not yet back to where it had been, and I know it frustrates her. She occasionally gets a pair of scrubs here that are tighter than the rest and when she has to wear them, she pulls at them constantly, not liking the way they cling to her curves. She does yoga now, which I don't think she did before. Several mornings I have come to her room to visit and caught her in some impressive looking poses. After watching her fluid movements through the window on her door for a minute or two, I leave her be. I hope the yoga is more for her mind than her body. I want to tell her she looks fine--she looks good. But that would be inappropriate. I haven't allowed any deeper investigation of the feelings I had about Scully when she was gone, and I see no point in ever doing so. 

"Thank you, by the way," Scully says as she moves on to my other foot. "I don't think I ever said thank you."

I look at the side of her face, "For what?" I sense the seriousness in her voice and wish she would look at me, but she stays focused on her work.

"For being ready to stick to the terms of my will. My mom told me what happened before I woke up in the hospital."

I nod, and a lump forms in my throat. I look down just in case she does decide to look at me now. I've only thought about that time in the hospital in my dreams; and they are never good dreams. Scully and I had signed each others wills out of convenience mostly. There was an unspoken realization that should anything happen to us, it was likely the other one would be there to execute the will. We signed them, and then never spoke of it. It was only when the doctor said it that I even remembered.

"I'm not so sure your mom was happy about it, but I knew what your wishes were."

"She said you didn't seem so happy with it either. But thank you for sticking to it anyways." She finishes with my toes then and sits up facing me, with her legs crossed. Either her nails are dry, or she's forgotten about them.

I nod again, pretending to inspect my toes to keep this conversation from getting emotional. I clear my throat, "What's the point of a will if it's not respected?" I say clinically.

"Respect is the key word," she adds quietly, a little smile starting at the corner of her mouth.

I meet her gaze finally and see that she is not emotional, or even sad, but rather a little grateful. I definitely don't think I'll get locked out of her room today. "Don't let your toes touch each other," she admonishes loudly all of a sudden, noticing I've relaxed my feet. 

I concentrate on keeping them apart, shaking my head in confusion. "Why did you paint my nails?" I ask, amused.

Scully shrugs, "What else were we gonna do today?" She yawns and stretches and gets up off the bed. "Don't discount my boredom, Mulder. With what my mom brought me, by the end of the day, I can have both our legs shaved, eyebrows plucked, pores cleaned and have our faces moisturized to within an inch of our lives." She rattles off the list as she heads into the bathroom. She returns a minute later, still drying her hands with paper towel. "Chocolate," she announces as she tosses the paper towel in the garbage. "I'm gonna ask her to bring us chocolate."

"That sounds like a plan," I agree, keeping my feet on the bed for fear of getting yelled at again. 

"Do you have change for the pay phone?"

I nod, "In my room, in my jacket pocket."

She nods a thank you as she heads out of the room. I get a brief flash of soon being the focus of some bizarre makeover project performed at the hands of a very bored forensic pathologist. As I see her pass back in front of the doorway on her way to the pay phone I shout, "Get her to bring us some board games, or something. Please!"


End file.
